


Following Winter

by Whedonista93



Series: Soul Mate AU [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rock Stars, Screaming Trees, Soulmates, Tattooed Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 00:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18679990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: The Rockstar Soulmate AU no one asked for





	Following Winter

**Author's Note:**

> All the songs used are from The Screaming Trees and you should definitely check them out because they are vastly underrated.

Bucky picks up a guitar for the first time about halfway through his second deployment. It had belonged to a young corporal - the kind of kid who joined up because he had nothing and no one else in the world - who had been killed by an I.E.D. the previous week. It’s a quiet night, Bucky’s bored, and it’s not like there’s anyone to send it back home to. He’d watched the kid play a few times, and spends about twenty minutes trying to mimic vaguely remembered finger positions before a shy private, as tiny as Steve, but as dark as Steve is pale, approaches him sheepishly. He looks up at her expectantly and she holds out a dusty, black leather bound notebook. He quirks an eyebrow.

She shrugs and he cheeks flush darker. “It’s his song book. The first few pages are chord cheat-sheets and notes on tricks for easier chord progressions. The rest is actual music. A lot of it is even original.”

“You knew him?” Bucky asks as he reaches for the book.

She shrugs again. “We were friendly. He didn’t really have anyone, ya know, but he seemed to like it that way. Wasn’t rude or anything, just kept to himself.”

Bucky nods, absently flipping through the notebook. “What was his name?”

“Grant. Matt Grant.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Private First Class Whitney Brand, sergeant.”

Bucky chuckles. “Take it, easy, Brand. We’re in the desert. No one much care what rank us peons are. Bucky or Barnes is fine.”

She grins hesitantly. “Still probably gonna call you Sarge if anyone else is around.”

He shrugs easily. “Fair enough.” He tips the book toward her. “You know anything about this shit?”

Her smile turns more genuine. “I play piano, so not really. But I can teach you how to read the music.”

 

* * *

 

Somehow, the guitar makes it back stateside with him and takes up a place of honor in a corner of Steve’s shitty little Brooklyn apartment under a couple of the punk’s paintings.

 

* * *

 

His third deployment comes too soon, but he buys a shitty guitar to take with him - because he’d gotten home and almost shit himself at the numbers that popped up on the screen when he looked up the guitar pseudo-inherited from Corporal Grant. Two months in, Whit’s unit shows up and Bucky thinks maybe this deployment won’t suck so bad as the last two. So of course that’s when his unit gets ambushed and taken hostage.

He loses track of time, but everything comes into sharp focus for a moment when some giant with Stevie’s voice and eyes looms over him. “It’s me. I thought you were dead.”

The giant undoes his restraints and yanks him up off the table. 

Bucky looks him up and down. “I thought you were smaller.”

“C’mon, jerk. Can’t have you dying here. Someone’s gotta play that damn guitar in my apartment.”

Bucky nods, and eventually clears the fog in his brain as they trek through the woods. He smacks Steve upside the head when the punk tells him he let some doctor experiment on him, but in reality, Bucky is damn glad his best friend is there. Whit damn near tackles him when they make their way back to camp and Bucky rolls his eyes at Steve’s suspicious look.

He wraps one arm around Whit’s shoulders, tries to lift his chin high enough her braids aren’t tickling his chin, and punches Steve in the shoulder with his free hand. “Don’t be an ass, this is Brand. I’ve told you about her.”

Steve raises his hands in surrender.

Whit pulls her face out of Bucky’s chest enough to look over at Steve.

“Whit, the giant punk is my formerly scrawny ass best friend Steve. Stevie, Whit.”

Steve fidgets nervously when Whit doesn’t take his proffered hand.

Bucky looks down to find Whit gaping up at him. “What?”

She pulls away and shoves at him. “Your best friend is Captain America?”

“Who the hell is Captain America?”

 

* * *

 

 

The Howling Commandos are an eclectic group. Junior, Morita, Fallsworth, Gabe, Dernier, Happy, Pinky, Dum Dum, and Whit. Whit is a bit of a surprise, and some of the guys grumble about a woman joining a special forces unit, but she refuses to leave Bucky, convinced he’ll get himself kidnapped again without supervision, and that’s enough for Steve to put his foot down and say she’s in. Bucky and Whit take bets on how long it takes for Steve to ask if they’re Soulmates. Bucky wins with barely a day to spare, as they’re setting up camp about two and half days into the Commandos second mission.

Steve settles back against the opposite side of the tree trunk Bucky is leaning against. “So, Whit… is she, uh, is she you…”

Bucky leans his head back against the tree, grateful the punk can’t see his grin. “My what, punk?”

“Ya know… Soulmate?”

“Fuck you, Rogers!” Whit calls from where she’s banking the fire a few feet away.

Steve gapes.

Whit glares at him. “You couldn’t have held off asking one more day?”

Bucky falls over laughing.

Steve can’t seem to decide which one of them he wants to glare at more.

Bucky finally collects himself enough to face Steve. “Nah, man, she’s not my Soulmate.” He shakes his head and smiles, fingers absently stroking over the Words and Steve both know are etched around his bicep. It takes him a minute to realize Steve is staring at Whit with something akin to awe. “What’s your damage, punk?”

Steve turns toward Bucky, dazed expression still in first place. “Have Whit and I actually spoken directly to each other before tonight?”

Bucky blinks at his best friend owlishly before suddenly remembering the swirling scripted  _ Fuck you, Rogers! _ that’s ringed the blond’s belly button since he was three and he doubles over laughing. “Holy shit! Say something back, you dumb punk! Hey, Whit!”

She comes toward them. “What?”

Bucky shoves Steve to his feet. “Come on, man!”

Whit narrows her eyes. “What are you two idiots up to?”

Bucky kicks Steve’s ankle.

Steve flushes bright red and rubs a hand across the back of his neck, ducks his head and looks at Whit through his eyelashes. “Apparently I might be a bit of a dumbass.”

Whit’s jaw drops.

Bucky gives up holding it together and falls over, clutching his sides as he laughs.

 

* * *

 

 

He falls from the train. He loses his arm, and spares a brief prayer of thanks through the pain that it’s left arm, before they hook him up to something that sends a searing pain through his skull.

Time drifts. The flash of a forest here. The flash of a beach there. The sound of helicopter blades. The crack and recoil of a rifle. Cold.

Sometimes, he dreams. Blond hair, blue eyes. Dark hair, darker eyes, braids twisted into a bun. Steel strings and hand scribbled music notes. A French accent. He finds himself mumbling names he feels like he should know, but the Soldier knows no one outside his missions, and his handlers make the cold come back.

They give the Soldier a mission, and he finds himself staring at blond hair and blue eyes that make his head spin.

“Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

He can’t pin down why, but the soldier doesn’t want to fight this man. He turns to run and finds himself facing a small woman with eyes darker than the night sky and head full of tight braids pulled into one loose braid trailing down her back. She makes his head hurt too.

“Bucky?”

He shakes his head and turns to run a different direction.

“Wait!” She starts toward him, hand outstretched, but freezes before she takes a full step. “Buck, wait. Please.”

He takes another step. He freezes out of shock more than anything when the woman opens her mouth again and starts singing. Something pounds behind his eyes and he drops to his knees, hands at his temples. “What- I - who- stop, please.” When he opens his eyes again, the woman is kneeling in front of him. “Who are you?”

She smiles. “My name is Whit. And I’m your friend.”

“Help me.”

 

* * *

 

 

They tell him he’s James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky to his friends. They tell him he fell from a train. They tell him Hydra had him for seven years and they thought he was dead until they saw him on that bridge.

Stevie and Whit recruit a whole slew of people to put him back together.

Tony Stark, Howard’s genius spawn, retrofits his prosthetic arm.

Tony connects them with Helen Cho, who puts him in a machine that starts knitting his body back together, and with it, his mind. Dr. Cho tells him with enough time, the machine could grow his arm back as well, but the prosthetic is all he’s known for the better part of a decade, and he’s gotten used to it; he turns her down.

Memories come back with his healed brain, and Steve introduces him to Sam Wilson to help battle the demons that come with those memories.

 

* * *

 

 

The day after his memories start returning, Whit finds him on the couch in the apartment she shares with Steve, staring at the wall, and she picks up the guitar that’s been gathering dust in the corner and sets it on his lap before she slips out quietly. He doesn’t sleep for a week. It takes him three days to teach himself to play with the prosthetic, and he spends the next four adding his own words to Grant’s old journal.

He sleeps for two days straight and, for the first time since he got back, doesn’t have a single nightmare. It gives him the courage to actually look in the mirror for the first time in months. The scarring around his left shoulder has gone down significantly between Stark’s properly fitted prosthetic and Helen’s miracle machine, and the scarring around his Soulmark on his right bicep, where Hydra tried time and again to cut and burn it from his skin, has faded to barely there silvery lines. The sight of those scars, the reminder of everything they did take, and everything else they tried to take, from him sends a surge of rage through him he doesn’t quite know what to do with. He yanks a hoodie on on his way through the door, and barely has enough sense to grab his wallet, keys, and phone - he’d promised Stevie he wouldn’t just take off with no way to reach him - as he slams out of the building.

He’s not entirely sure where he’s going, but eventually he ends up in front of a brick building in… he looks for the nearest street sign. Shit, how’d he end up in Hell’s Kitchen? He shakes the fog of rage clear from his mind and peers at the building in front of him. Tattoo shop.  _ Red Room _ . His wandering doesn’t seem so aimless anymore. He firms his resolve and yanks the door open, a bell jangling cheerfully over the door as he enters.

“Be right there!” A voice calls from somewhere in the back.

“No rush.” He calls back. 

Much to his surprise, a familiar face comes around the partial wall that separates the back of the shop.

Bucky blinks. “Barton?”

The other sniper grins. “Barnes!”

Bucky offers one of the few genuine smiles he’s had since coming back. “The fuck are you doing in a tattoo shop in Hell’s Kitchen, man?” He asks, offering a hand across the counter.

Clint grins and grasps the offered hand. “Working. Medical retirement,” he gestures toward his head and Bucky notices the hearing aids, “thanks to a fucking I.E.D. about three years ago. Could ask you the same thing, pal.”

Bucky shrugs. “I, uh… shit, man.” He takes a deep breath and his voice drops, barely audible. “I was… taken. My unit thought I was dead. Terrorist organization had me for about seven years. Only been back a few months.”

“Fuck,” Clint curses. “The Winter Soldier case… that was you?”

Bucky looks up sharply.

Clint flinches. “Sorry. Uh, my Soulmate defected from a branch of Hydra. She’s still got contacts.”

Bucky relaxes a bit. “Oh.”

Clint shakes his head. “Rough shit, man. I can’t even imagine… glad you’re home.”

Bucky breathes. “Yeah, me too.”

Clint claps his hands together. “Right. Okay. Tattoo shop. My job. You, here. Guessing you’re wanting ink?”

Bucky relaxes further and nods suddenly viscerally grateful that he stumbled into Clint’s shop of all places. He doesn’t think he could trust just anyone for this. “Yeah. Uh… when they had me... they tried to remove my Soulmark.”

Clint’s eyes go wide and he curses impressively under his breath.

Bucky almost grins. “Don’t worry. Didn’t take. But, uh… I was thinkin’ that maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy to kinda try to, I don’t know, protect it? It sounds crazy now that I’m saying it out loud.”

Clint shakes his head. “Ain’t crazy man. My schedule’s clear tonight. Come on back and let’s see what we’re working with.”

Bucky follows Clint to a booth in the back and self-consciously shrugs out of his hoodie.

Clint blinks at his left arm and whistles. “Damn. Stark tech?”

Bucky nods and lets the curiosity show on his face.

Clint grins. “Sorry, that’s what Tash, my Soulmate, does now. She’s head of Stark Tower’s security division.”

Bucky snorts. “Small world.”

“Yeah. Where’s your Mark?”

Bucky holds his right arm up, displaying the script on his bicep.

Clint whistles again. “Chatty.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

Clint lifts a hand toward the Mark. ”May I?”

Bucky nods.

Clint runs calloused fingers over the scars. “Scar tissue?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not really. Got a sort of miracle treatment.”

Clint nods and pulls hi hand back. “Any idea what kind of ink you want around it?”

Bucky shrugs. “Some kind of sleeve.”

“Words?”

Bucky nods. “Mostly. Want my Mark to fade into it all. Make it something no one would think to pick out as special unless they knew better. Still want it all to mean something, though.”

“So what’s important to you?”

“My friends. Music. My unit… I… I have an idea.”

Clint grins and makes gimme hands.

Bucky pulls his phone out and grimaces guiltily. “Uh, hold on, I gotta call Stevie.”

Clint waves him off.

Bucky lifts the phone to his ear and flinches when Steve picks up, panicked. “I’m fine, punk. I just needed some air. Ended up running into an old Army buddy. Yeah, you can call off the search. I swear I just didn’t hear my phone. Sorry, pal. Yeah, no, I’ll be out late. Don’t wait up. Yeah, tell Whit I’m sorry too.”

Clint quirks an eyebrow as Bucky hangs up.

Bucky ducks his head sheepishly. “My two best friends are Soulmates and mother hens.”

Clint cracks a grin.

Bucky starts flicking through his phone, sends Clint shots of some of Stevie’s sketches from the war, a few dirty limericks written by various Commandos, music and lyrics from Grant’s journal, poems from one of Whit’s journals. Clint prints off a stack of transfers and they spend about an hour arranging them before Clint stencils in the parts that are exact transfers of Steve’s work or someone’s handwriting, and Bucky assures Clint he trusts him to freehand the rest. The end result is the entirety of his right arm, shoulder, and part of his chest and back being covered in ink. Bucky stumbles into the apartment and collapses face first into his bed around two in the morning, and for the second time in recent memory, doesn’t dream.

Whit has the decency to wait until almost noon to wake him up the next day. She throws a pillow instead of jumping on him like she would have… well, before. They both learned that lesson the hard way shortly after he got his memory back.

He groans and turns his head, glaring at her through strands of hair.

Once she’s sure he’s awake,  _ then _ she tosses her slight weight over his legs. “You scared us last night, asshole.”

“Sorry,” he grumbles.

“What set you off?”

“The scars around my Soulmark.”

He feels her flinch. “You okay?”

He shifts his legs. “Budge up.”

She sits up.

He rolls overs and sits up as well, holds his arm out to her.

Her eyes go wide and she makes an immediate grab for his wrist, turning his arm every which way and prodding at his chest gently. “Holy shit, Barnes. Wait… this is my writi- is this one of my poems?”

Bucky nods.

Whit starts examining the ink more closely. “This is Steve’s. And - oh my gosh! I can’t believe you got so many of the Commando’s dirty limericks permanently etched into your sorry hide.”

Bucky grins and shrugs. 

“This is hot, Barnes.” She shakes her head. “As if women didn’t swoon over you enough already.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, ‘cause every gal is lookin’ for a murderous headcase.”

Whit rolls her eyes. “Ink is therapeutic, supposed to get the demons outta your head, Buck.”

“I know. It did.”

“Good.” She smacks a kiss on his cheek. “Steve! Come take a look at what this punk did!”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky’s been home for almost a year when Whit starts ‘subtly’ leaving flyers for open mic nights. It takes a month before she loses patience with him and tells him she signed him up for one. After all the things he’s done, he’s not sure why sitting on a stool in the corner of a bar with his guitar makes him so nervous. He takes a deep breath and scans the crowd. Clint’s there, and he brought Natasha - who gets along so well with Whit that Bucky’s pretty sure Steve and Clint should be scared. Steve and Whit are there too, along with about half the other Howling Commandos. He knows he can’t focus on anyone he knows with the song he’s picked for tonight. He finds a pretty dame, wide blue green eyes, smiling red lips and a figure that rivals the old forties pin ups he’s always had a weakness for. She meets his eyes and blatantly checks him out from head to toe with growing smirk. She finishes her perusal and raises her gaze to his again with a wink. He grins back as he strums the first few chords of the song and proceeds to sing directly to her.

 

* * *

 

 

Tall, dark, handsome, inked. Long hair and scruff. Battered jeans and a leather jacket.  _ And _ holding a guitar. The guy on the little corner stage of the bar hits every single one of Darcy’s buttons and when he meets her gaze across the bar, she doesn’t hesitate to show her interest. Then he grins and starts singing, his eyes never leaving hers, and Darcy’s whole world freezes in that moment. 

_ Did you hear the distant cry _

_ Calling me back to my sin _

_ Like the one you knew before _

_ Calling me back once again _

_ I nearly, I nearly lost you there _

_ And it's taken us somewhere _

_ I nearly lost you there _

_ Let's try to sleep now _

_ Drag me far enough to know _

_ I'm blind every mile that you burn _

_ There's a rider that's fallen and _

_ It's clear there's no time to return _

_ I nearly, I nearly lost you there _

_ And it's taken us somewhere _

_ I nearly lost you there _

_ Well let's try to sleep now _

_ Did you hear the distant lie _

_ Calling me back to my sin _

_ Like the one you knew before _

_ Calling me back once again _

_ I nearly, I nearly lost you there _

_ And it's taken us somewhere _

_ I nearly lost you there _

_ Well let's try to sleep now _

_ I nearly lost you there _

_ I nearly lost you _

_ I nearly lost you there _

_ I nearly lost you there _

_ I nearly lost you there _

_ Oh yeah, oh yeah, yeah oh  _

_ Nearly lost you there _

Darcy was born with her entire right leg covered in messy, flowing script, and she realizes with a sudden clarity exactly why. Her Soulmate’s first words to her an entire fucking song. She’s not stupid - she’d always figured it was something like that, but maybe she is a little stupid, because she’d never considered it might be original lyrics. By the time Darcy pulls her head out of the clouds, the singer is gone. Darcy scans the bar, but can’t find him anywhere, and curses herself in every language she knows. She sweet talks the nights lineup out of the bartender, but her Soulmate is simply listed as H.C.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky briefly considers approaching the woman at the bar, the first time he’s considered such a thing since he came back, but the second he’s off the stage a man in a sharp suit is in his space with a business card and he feels like before he blinks he’s in a diner booth a block away, discussing recording an album.

A month after she almost met her Soulmate, Darcy sees him again. A friend from college is in town and drags her to some alt-rock concert. The moment the opening act steps onto the stage, Darcy’s world narrows again. Once again, her Soulmate is on the stage. She scrambles for her ticket out of her pocket, desperately searching out her Soulmate’s name, but is rewarded only with the name Winter. She groans in frustration, earning a curious look from her friend, but waves her off in favor of focusing on the music. Just like a month ago in the bar, he scans the crowd, seemingly searching out a focal point. Somehow, he finds her again. She smiles at him when recognition flashes across his face. He grins back and, once again, never moves his gaze away from her as he sings.

_ Bite the thorn that pierce the skin _ __   
_ Come back down to earth again _ __   
_ The cold is creeping deep inside _ __   
_ You disconnect the telephone line _ __   
_ Gotta get away _ __   
_ Gotta get away _ __   
_ Get away _ __   
_ Gotta get away _ __   
_ 'Fore the Lord gonna make me stay _ __   
_ All that I know _ __   
_ Shoulda been _ __   
_ Coulda been _ __   
_ Mine _ __   
_ I killed the last way out of this _ __   
_ Persuaded by a deceitful kiss _ __   
_ That said you better stay _ __   
_ Said you better stay _ __   
_ Better stay _ __   
_ Said you better stay _ __   
_ 'fore it's all gone _ __   
_ Gone away _ _   
_ __ All that I know

_ All that I know _

_ Bite the thorn that pierce the skin _ __   
_ Come back down to earth again _ __   
_ The cold is creeping deep inside _ __   
_ You disconnect the telephone line _ __   
_ Gotta get away _ __   
_ 'Fore I lose my mind _ __   
_ Said you better stay _ __   
_ 'Fore it's all gone _ __   
_ Gone away _ __   
_ All that I know  _ _   
_ __ All that I know

It’s only the second time she’s heard him sing, but Darcy swears she feels it in her soul. The slight rasping growl he sings with does nothing to hide the depth he feels the music. Darcy wonders if anyone else sees it. She tries, and fails, to get backstage after his set. She spends way too much money purchasing at least one of everything on his merch table, and immediately subscribes to every form of social media she can find him on.

She accidentally catches him at another open mic a couple weeks later. She blows him a kiss from the bar when his eyes land on her. He winks back and, just like last time, maintains focus on her through his whole song.

_ The hour is ending, can't you see _ __   
_ There is no way now, to get free _ __   
_ In the shadow of the season _ __   
_ Without a reason, to carry on _ __   
_ Without a reason, without a reason _ __   
_ And from the north woods _ __   
_ Down to the valley _ __   
_ In a world of hurting, I'm moving on _ __   
_ And from the lighthouse _ __   
_ Out on the ocean _ __   
_ Can't climb the mountain, so very tall _ __   
_ Said Lord please give me what I need _ __   
_ He said there's pain and misery _ __   
_ Oh sweet oblivion feels alright _ __   
_ The hour is drawing ever closer _ __   
_ And rolling over, won't let me be _ __   
_ In the shadow of the season _ __   
_ To find a reason, to carry on _ __   
_ Said Lord please give me what I need _ __   
_ He said there's pain and misery _ __   
_ Oh sweet oblivion _ __   
_ She calls me onward to her side _ __   
_ And feels her song deep inside  _ __   
_ And find a reason _ __   
_ In the shadow of the season _ __   
_ To find a reason to carry on _ __   
_ In the shadow of the season _ __   
_ To find a reason to carry on _ __   
_ Find a reason to carry on _ __   
_ To carry on _ __   
_ To find a reason to carry on _ _   
_ __ To carry on

Three months after the first concert, he’s rising on the charts and announcing his first headline tour. Darcy stares at the article on her phone and feels her world stop with the sudden realization that her Soulmate is never actually going to be hers. She’s had too many missed opportunities. He’s  _ famous _ and if she ever does manage to actually approach him, she’s just going to look like some desperate groupie, and while she can handle rejection… she can’t handle rejection from  _ him _ , so she resolves to admire him from a distance, support him however she can, and wish him happiness without her. For the first time in her life, she breaks out one of the shiny black cards her father has been sending her since she was a teenager and buys tickets to every one of his shows within 200 miles of New York.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky never imagined fame. He’s not comfortable with it, but he realizes quickly he can make a difference. He never uses his real name, but, at Sam’s suggestion, is open about being a vet and a P.O.W. He performs as Winter, Whit’s suggestion, because she’s got a fucked up sense of humor. He tells Private Grant’s story and sets up a scholarship fund for at risk kids wanting to pursue music using the royalties off the songs Grant wrote.

He still has nightmares, but he also just has dreams, the best of which feature sparkling blue green eyes, smirking red lips, and brown curls that he swears he sees slipping through the crowds at his concerts more often than not.

 

* * *

 

 

“Your Soulmate is pretty,” Darcy slurs, slumped against Jane’s side, both women admiring him from across the room where he was gesturing broadly in the midst of some story he was recounting to Tony, Clint, and Bruce. “Mine’s pretty too.”

Jane shot up straight, sending Darcy tumbling off the couch. “You met your Soulmate and didn’t tell me?”

Darcy rubs her ass ruefully as she hauls herself back onto the couch. “Tone down the squeal, boss lady!”

Jane crosses her arms mulishly.

Darcy holds a finger up to her lips. “ _ Shhh _ . It’s a secret.”

“I can’t believe you met your Soulmate and didn’t tell me!” Jane protests.

“I haven’t met him,” Darcy pouts. “I jus’ know who he is.”

“ _ Ooohh _ ,” Jane nods slowly. “You didn’t even talk to him, did you? But he talked to you.”

“Sorta.” Darcy shrugs. “He sang to me.”

“ _ Awwwh!”  _ Jane coos.

“It’ll never work.” Darcy shakes her head and reaches for her drink. “I don’t even know his real name. And he’s all famous now. He wasn’t yet when he sang to me, but I could never get to him to talk to him and now it’s too late. He’d jus’ think I was some floozy groupie.”

“Oh,” Jane frowns sullenly into her drink. “Sorry, Darce.”

Darcy shrugs. “He seems happy. That’s wha’ ‘mportant.”

Jane cocks her head. “It’s that Winter guy, isn’t it? The one whose concerts you keep going to.”

Darcy smiles sadly and offers the barest nod.

Neither notices Natasha slip away back toward the men on the other side of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky offers a token grumble when Tony asks him to play the annual Stark New Years party, but agrees easily enough. Tony has done so much for him that Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll ever refuse the other man anything. As far as Stark parties go, it’s a low key affair. A lot of friends and a few acquaintances, no business allowed.

Bucky’s prepped for an acoustic set, Whit having agreed to accompany on piano for a few songs, tuning his favorite guitar - Grant’s old acoustic, the one he’d picked up on deployment so long ago - when he spots her. The brunette who’s existed at the edges of his focus for the last year or so like some kind of ghost is standing next to Tony at the bar in a dress as red as her lipstick, looking  _ exactly _ like one of the 40’s pin ups he’s always silently compared her to with her dark curls pinned up elegantly, the black pumps she’s wearing doing things to her legs that make Bucky’s mouth water. He swears then and there that he’ll finally talk to her before this party is over.

She turns toward the stage and meets his eyes right as he begins to play.

 

* * *

 

 

“Got a surprise for you,” Tony sing-songs obnoxiously.

Darcy turns to face him, eyebrow quirked, unimpressed.

“So, not that I was being nosy, well, maybe kind of, but not actually-”

“Tony!”

“Right, so JARVIS alerted me when your credit card was used. ‘Cause you haven’t used anything the old man tried to give you in over a decade and suddenly there’s purchases and, ya know, had to make sure it wasn’t fraud.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “It was me.”

“I know. But anyway, I got curious what you finally caved for, and imagine my surprise when it was something as frivolous as concerts.”

Darcy tenses.

Tony holds his hands up. “No judgement. The whole world knows I’ve spent our family’s money on far worse.”

Darcy snorts, but relaxes. “Are we getting to a point any time soon?”

“Short version? Turns out I know the guy you’re such a fan of. I called in a favor.”

A guitar chord strums and Darcy whirls toward the stage.

_ Come walk down the long hall _ __   
_ In the dim light of morning _ __   
_ Step inside my room, I'm waiting alone _ __   
_ It's so weird that you're finally here _ __   
_ In the place where you're going to see _ __   
_ All the sights and the sounds _ __   
_ And then the animals come out of the jungle _ __   
_ Curious to see us waiting here _ __   
_ On the shore of the crystal blue sea _ __   
_ And the waves meet the ship _ __   
_ That we're going to be on _ __   
_ On a flight from this day _ __   
_ To the place where we can stay _ __   
_ And never ever be alone _ __   
_ I know that I'm never going to go back home _ __   
_ I stand at the window, the dim light is fading _ __   
_ It's cold inside my room and it's getting late _ __   
_ Then the animals come out of the jungle _ __   
_ Curious to see me stare at the waves _ __   
_ As they roll out to sea and the waves meet the ship _ __   
_ That we're going to be on _ __   
_ On a flight from this day _ __   
_ To a place where we can stay _ __   
_ And never ever be alone _ __   
_ You know that I'm never going to go _ __   
_ You know that I'm never going to go back home again _ __   
_ Well alright now! _ __   
_ Come walk down the long hall _ __   
_ In the dim light of morning _ __   
_ Step inside my room, I'm waiting alone _ __   
_ It's so weird that you're finally here _ __   
_ In the place where you're going to see _ __   
_ All the sights and the sounds _ __   
_ And then the animals come out of the jungle _ __   
_ Curious to see us waiting here _ __   
_ On the shore of the crystal blue sea _ __   
_ And the waves meet the ship _ __   
_ That we're going to be on _ __   
_ On a flight from this day _ __   
_ To the place where we can stay _ __   
_ And never ever be alone _ __   
_ You know that I'm never going to go _ _   
_ __ You know that I'm never going to go back home again (That's good)

Darcy feels like she can’t breathe, but manages to wait until Winter shifts his gaze back to the crowd before fleeing toward the nearest balcony.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky loses sight of her after his first song, but dutifully plays through his set. He finds Stark as soon as he finishes playing.

Tony beams at him. “Not bad, Barnes. I can almost see why you’re so popular.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Rib me later. Brunette in a red dress you were talkin’ to earlier.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “What about her?”

Bucky shrugs helplessly. “Doesn’t make much sense, but I’ll try to explain later. I just know I gotta meet her.”

Tony assesses him for a long minute before shrugging, letting his facade of harmless playboy slide back into place.

Bucky almost flinches - he knows what a force Tony Stark is to be reckoned with.

“Balcony. And Barnes? Pull  _ any _ kind of shit, and I’ll have Natashalie throw you off the top of the tower.”

That makes Bucky pause. “Don’t take this wrong, Stark, ‘cause you know I know you better than the masks, but… why do you care?”

“‘Cause our old man was an ass to her and I refuse to carry on the family tradition.”

“She’s your-”

“Yeah. So don’t fuck up.”

Bucky nods once and makes his way to the balcony.

She’s there, even more beautiful up close than all the times he’s seen her across a crowd. She’s gazing out over the city skyline, a content look on her face despite her uncovered arms and the snow coming down in lazy flakes.

She doesn’t turn around, even though she’s clearly aware he’s there.

“ _All out of doors looked darkly in at him_ _  
__Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,_ _  
__That gathers on the pane in empty rooms._ _  
__What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze_ _  
___Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.”

Bucky’s heart catches in his throat, and suddenly every fleeting sight of this woman clicks into place. He takes a shaky breath. “Robert Frost.”

She nods, still not looking at him. “I don’t have many good memories of my father, but I remember him reading that poem to me while we were snowed in once when I was a kid.” She shivers.

Bucky shrugs his jacket off and rests it over her shoulders.

The motion seems to snap her out of whatever trance she was in and she turns to him and completely freezes. “Oh shit!”

Bucky flinches. “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, doll.”

She flushes bright red and buries her face in her hands, muttering incoherently.

Bucky deflates. “I’m sorry. I’ll just, uh, I’ll just go.”

Her hand darts out and snags his elbow as he turns to leave. “No! Shit! I am so sorry. I’m totally fucking this up.”

Her hand feels like a branding iron on his arm and it’s all he can do to quirk an eyebrow at her.

She takes a deep breath and offers her free hand. “Hi, I’m Darcy Lewis, and it’s  _ really  _ nice to finally meet you.”

Bucky clasps her hand gently. “James Barnes. My friends call me Bucky.”

“I really said your-”

Bucky shifts his sleeve and points out the poem around his bicep.

Darcy runs her fingers over it and smiles softly. “Wow.”

Bucky winces. “Sorry you’ve got some dead guys name for yours.”

Darcy looks at him quizzically, then throws her head back and laughs, gestures to her left leg, every visible inch of which is covered in writing - Bucky’s writing.

Bucky gapes, mind reeling, before he connects it. “That first open mic that Whit made me do… I sang to you.”

Darcy smiles. “You sang to me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Good evening, New York! You're listening to WLIR, and I am live in studio with one of music's most well known names today. You all know him, you all love him, give a big round of applause for Winter!” The DJ winks at Bucky. “Now, I can't hear you, but I'm going to assume you're all decent human beings and clapped like good little music fans. How's life treating you, Winter?”

Bucky grins easily. “Can't complain, pal.”

“Good to hear. Now I've got a bone to pick with you.”

“Whatever it is, I plead the Fifth.”

The DJ laughs. “Your first U.S. tour was a near unprecedented success, and there were rumors of another one coming soon, but your agent announced last week that you won't be touring again for another year at least. Not to sound insensitive, but did someone die?”

Bucky chuckles. “Nah, nothing like that. All good things. See, my two best friends are Soulmates. Been together a decade. Still sickeningly in love. They're having a kid here in a few months and I can't imagine missing it. My littlest sister is gettin’ married next month. An old Army buddy and his Soulmate are adopting. There's enough going on at home I don't wanna miss out on. I'm focusing on some new material for now. Tour can wait.”

The DJ whistles. “Bad boy exterior, but a family man at heart. Single ladies, stand up.”

Bucky shakes his head with a rueful grin. “Nah. Happily off the market.”

The DJ clutches at his heart dramatically. “Rock ‘n Roll bachelor not so bachelor?”

Bucky's grin morphs into a sappy smile. “Met my own Soulmate a few months ago.”

“Congratulations, man! We get any of the dirty details?”

Bucky smirks. “Maybe someday.”

“Awh, come on, gotta give me something here, man! I just helped you break half the hearts in America!”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but reaches for his guitar. “How about a new song?”

The DJ claps. “Now we're talking!”

Bucky adjusts his mic. “Wrote this one for my Soulmate. She hasn't heard it yet, and is probably gonna kick my ass for this.”

“We appreciate your selflessness,” the DJ informs him solemnly. 

Bucky chuckles. “This one's for you, doll. We both know you're listening.”

_ Well clouds and I see a shape _ __   
_ Pretty girl through the night and day _ __   
_ Run around fast away _ __   
_ I pass the shadows where I stay _ __   
_ Long, long hair and I'm not there _ __   
_ And when the wind dissolves the clouds _ __   
_ The street light girl is the only witness _ __   
_ The girl behind the mask _ __   
_ She's the one who never has to ask, yeah _ __   
_ With magic pouring from her eyes _ __   
_ There's nothing she can't  _ __ recognize  
_ Makes me want to understand _ __   
_ Makes me feel like melting black _ __   
_ When your the last flash and time stands still _ __   
_ I ask what if all I could recall _ __   
_ Had never been in the dream that she could see _ __   
_ Girl behind the mask _ __   
_ She's the one who never has to ask _ __   
_ She reaches through your disguise _ __   
_ It's too late - you never  _ __ realized  
_ And I never  _ __ realized  
_ Up the stairs a picture's waiting _ __   
_ In my room she might be waiting _ __   
_ We're baptized still getting blind in the darkness _ __   
_ If I get back to her I'd walk away into the forest _ __   
_ And then I'm thinking 'where can I go Lord?' _ __   
_ Girl behind the mask is the one _ __   
_ Who never has to ask _ __   
_ She's reaching through your disguise _ __   
_ It's too late _ __   
_ You never realized, you never  _ _realized_   
  



End file.
